


Natives

by puddii



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Gen, cutting hair, semi-sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddii/pseuds/puddii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes a point in every child’s life where they know they’re growing up and getting over their childish stages. For some it’s when they outgrow their favourite blanket, others when their favourite toy breaks and they don’t cry.<br/>For Rose it was very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natives

**Author's Note:**

> The title is after the Blink182 song 'Natives' where I got some of my inspiration from.

There comes a point in every child’s life where they know they’re growing up and getting over their childish stages. For some it’s when they outgrow their favourite blanket, others when their favourite toy breaks and they don’t cry.  
For Rose it was very different.  
  
As a child, she rarely cried, read often and was the perfect child.  
When she turned thirteen that changed.  
  
It started with a simple slip up in class. She called the teacher a fascist and was sent to the principal’s office. Her mother was furious and scolded her for a good hour.  
  
The next instance was the first B she got in Literature. She stared at the report she had worked so hard on in disbelief. This was unheard of for her.  
  
She came home that night and burnt the paper on the stove so her mother wouldn’t see.  
  
The time when Rose knew she was finally becoming a woman, when she realized she was caring less and less was the week before her friend, John, had his birthday.  
  
Rose stood in the bathroom, staring in the mirror at herself – pale skin, bright vivid eyes and long, beautiful blonde hair. She had loved her hair for as long as she could remember.  
It came down to the middle of her back and she groomed it and cared for it all her life. When she was little, her mother would braid it like a Princess and Rose would beam up at her.  
  
On impulse, without blinking an eye she took the scissors in her hands and cut her long locks off, letting them fall to the floor.  
Realizing what she had done, she let the scissors fall from her floor and walked out, almost in a daze. She fell into bed and curled up tight, clutching a pillow to her chest and cried.  
  
Rose knew what most children didn’t. From the day she finally began to let go of the child within her the world would become cruel and cold.  
She could already see it for what it was.  
  
Rose had never cried so hard in her short life, but for a good fifteen minutes she cried and cried and wailed until her voice was hoarse and her mother came in, pulled the small girl up into her arms and held her tight.  
  
She stroked her, now short, hair and hummed softly, soothing Rose until she stopped crying and fell asleep.  
“Precious,” her mother began, “you will _always_ be _my little girl_.”


End file.
